Winterfell reunion
by CarterMulligan
Summary: It all comes together when Jon and Daenerys march their army into Winterfell. A quick look into Aryas day. M for sexual themes. One shot.


**ARYA**

As Arya Stark stood in the crowd watching the massive procession of the Targaryen queen enter the gates of Winterfell, Gendry's face was the last she expected to see among the soldiers. She was less surprised to see the Hound than she was to see her closest friend. She had thought that she was never going to see Gendry again. Although she thought the same of Clegane, it was not the same surprise. When she saw the Hound her thought process was more or less something like o_f course that fucker is still alive._

Her heart lurched when she saw her beloved brother Jon Snow atop his beautiful black horse, a solemn and knowing look of the oncoming slaughter written on his face. She fought the urge to shout his name, stopping herself as he rides past her. She thinks perhaps in the midst of a ferocious marching army and next to the queen that leads it is not the better place for a reunion. _Gods, he looks so much older. So weathered and vicious, _she thinks to herself, remembering the way his soft smile would touch those sad looking black eyes when they were younger. There was no smile on his face now, nothing but an umfamiliar hardness.

It's when she sees Gendry riding in with the Unsullied and Dothraki that her heart falls into the pit of her stomach like a weight, rooting her to the spot. _He's here. He's alive. _She allows a smile to pull at her lips, unable to hide her joy at the thought of speaking with him soon.

She knows he knew about her being a Stark when they parted ways so many years earlier, but there was no guarantee that she'd be in Winterfell. She could've nearly stayed in Braavos and become a girl of no name. Had he considered that she might be here when he decided to join Khaleesi's army? _Had _he decided, or was he taken by a press gang? No, he'd come of his own volition. He looked proud.

As she considers her eminent reunions with the three men who've just ridden past her, unaware of her presence, she begins to feel a shift in the crowd. She then hears the screams begin and people are suddenly dispersing with a quickness.

There is an earsplitting noise that sounded as though the ground beneath her feet was cracking in half, with a heaviness to it reverberating through her bones and tingling her blood. Only she felt no quake underfoot- the disturbance was coming from above. It sounded like nothing she had ever heard before in her life, and it clearly inspired terror among the recently curious masses.

_Dragons._

Her blood ran cold and she felt small as she watched them fly overhead, awestruck by their grace and sheer size. She grinned up at them in fascination; in admiration, in curiosity, and sheer disbelief. They continued their voluminous roars, alerting everyone of their dominance and freedom, of their overwhelming existance.

But there was something else there, another reason for their devastating cries...for they're doomed to live on without their brother, and they'd forever be grieving to the skies, calling out for the lost one.

Arya could not fathom how the queen who'd just passed her moments before, or anyone for that matter, could possibly climb on top one of them and ride it up into the sky. She supposes once you've done that, taking the Iron Throne might seem like baking a cake.

**LATER**

Arya watches Gendry working by the forge, waiting for the right moment to approach him. With her she carries a scroll, specific instructions for a weapon she wanted made were illustrated there, and Gendry was the only blacksmith she knew who could pull it off. Of course she'd intended to visit her old friend anyhow, but killing two birds with one stone seemed like a good idea. This was probably her last night alive, after all. She has other things to do. The thought of killing two birds with one stone came to her again when she saw the Hound there, as she knew speaking to him was unavoidable. Best show herself to both of them at the same time. She wouldn't handle herself the same way she did when she met with Jon Snow out by that creepy tree her family loves so much.

"It isn't easy making a blade that big with dragonglass," Gendry says as he hands the Hound an axe. He appraises it suspiciously, eyeing Gendry.

"They're saying you're good, is that it?" he responds in a deep gnarly voice.

"I'm just saying it's a tricky material to-," Gendry begins to explain before he's interrupted.

"You know who makes weapons for the wildlings? Cripples and cocksuckers. Which one are you?" he mutters, mean, staring Gendry down with a fierceness. She decides it's time to intercede, having heard enough.

"Leave him be," Arya says calmly, alerting them of her presence. She stares Sandor Clegane down with a fierceness equal to his own as he turns to look at her, an unresolved anger in her eyes. Insulting her friend was not going to be an option. Not in her home. Not while she has her dagger.

"I heard you were here," he says slowly, not surprised to see her. After a pregnant pause he says what she was waiting for him to say. "You left me to die."

"First I robbed you." It takes all she has not to smile at that, but expresses her point with a cocky twitch of her brow, a challenge. To that he stands and approaches her slowly, both of them trying to read the hard look in each others eyes. She wonders if for a moment she sees relief in his, but she can't be sure. She will not break under him. He does not scare her.

"You're a cold little bitch, aren't you?" he murmurs, but there's something proud about his tone. He grins and says, "guess that's why you're still alive," before walking away with his axe. She watches him go, a flutter in her stomach at the thought of being alone with Gendry. Well, alone in the damp room of working sweaty men.

When she faces him she says, "that was a nice axe you made for him. You've gotten better." She meant it. She'd seen his work and chosen her blacksmith appropriately.

"Yeah, thanks. So have you," he says a bit awkwardly, still taken aback by her appearance. She curiously waits for him to explain what he meant when he nervously continues, "I mean you look...good." No doubt she's changed considerably since the last time he saw her, only a mere child then. He'd changed as well. He has less hair, and more character.

"Thanks. So do you," she tells him honestly. She remembers watching him make weapons before, the hard strain of his muscles elastic under dirty and sweaty skin, glistening with the efforts of his work. He was always beautiful, but now that shes appraising him with grown eyes it's like a new beauty, a new man.

Suddenly he turns and walks over to a pile of dragonglass blades. "It's not a bad place to grow up, if it wasn't so cold," he casually mentions as he appraises the weapons on the table before him.

"Stay close to the forge then," she says, joining him.

"Ah, is that a command Lady Stark?" he answers mockingly. She frowns.

"Don't call me that," she says in all seriousness.

"As you wish, milady," Gendry teases her, smiling playfully at her, knowing she hates when he pokes fun at her name and familial wealth, though there was nothing to be said about her particular wealth as of late. She wanted to be unimpressed but she was simply so happy to be back in his comfortable and familiar presence that she couldn't help but grin and give a small chuckle at his jokes. Nervously, she presents him with what she came there for.

"Here's my wish." Arya hands him the paper, deciding to keep to herself that she has another wish for him. But that was for another time.

**LATER**

**GENDRY**

Her skin felt like it was on fire. She was so impossibly warm. He knew there was no way that could be true, it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He'd been with women before and they weren't come to him with a flaming heat. Ayra was different.

When she approached him by the forge in the depths of Winterfell he felt a nervousness he'd not felt since the last time he'd seen her, and yet it was still a different nervousness. Before, it was an overwhelming respect, of which he still held for her, but today it was something more. It as almost fear...but not. He didn't fear her, but respected her enough that he feared her retribution if he shouldn't do right by her. He knew she was always powerful, even when she posed as a scared helpless child adapting to life as a penniless orphan boy. He was the first to see through her façade; he was the first to know she was not a boy, he was the first to know she was more than she led on, and he was the first to love her as such.

Though he never said it. She was but a child, after all. How could he possibly explain knowing she'd be his woman before she'd even become one herself?

Perhaps it was because he never accepted it. He never expected to see her again after he was sold to Melisandre.

When he came to Winterfell it all changed.

He saw her there and they were reunited once more, despite how he'd never given himself the room in his heart to hope for their seeing each other again. It was just a thought too poignant, imagining Arya somehwere out there, alone in the world.

Still the idea of seeing her alive again kept him awake at night, as the woman he saw come to his minds eye was not the girl who'd watched him go so many years before. Although she as not the woman who stood before him today, either. He'd spent too many hours lying awake considering who she may be now, or what she may look like. It wasn't until he saw her again that he was met with the most obvious of truths- of course she was going to fucking surprise him. She was Arya Stark, the most courageous, influential, and undoubtedly brave person he'd ever met in his life. She would never cease to surprise him.

"We're probably going to die soon," she'd told him. His brain started melting out of his ears at that point, making it hard to hear the rest of what she had to say.

"Arya...," he protested, not exactly sure why he was protesting in the first place. It was when she kissed him with a forcefulness that jolted his entire being that he realized it was because she could break him by doing this. He was not going to survive such an intimate encounter with Arya Stark intact, and if he did, how would he keep himself together in the following days?

_If there are any following days, _he thought to himself. Of course, that was it. There may not be any more days. Why not tonight, why not now, here, with Arya?

So he gave in.

He kissed her back. He embraced her warmth. He allowed himself to melt into it. If it's the last thing he ever experiences then that might actually be alright. In fact its better than any last moments on Earth he could've ever prayed for, he just never allowed himself to accept such a thing. She was never a woman until now.

She was full woman when she penetrated herself on his length. With an audible gasp he reacted, clutching her hips as if to steady her motions.

Only he didn't steady himself; instead he let her ride him like a stallion, and that's exactly what she did after enough of an adjustment period.

She didn't seem to make much of a noise except for an exasperated sigh as she attempted to shove herself onto him. It wasn't easy at first, but after a few seconds of frustrated groans and unintelligible murmurs she was able to force his length completely inside of her, like a sword in it's sheath.

_Isn't it supposed to hurt your first time? _Gendry thought to himself as she started to slightly buck his hips upward to her.

It didn't seem like it hurt her. She was moaning his name and curling her fingers into his hair in a way that made him want to explode. She tugged and grasped at him like he was the last food on in Westeros, and it was all he'd ever wanted.

She rode him hard. He couldn't keep track of how many times she'd ground her pelvis down into his. He completely lost himself inside of her. He lost who he was, what he wanted, and what who he might become some day. None of it mattered because he could feel nothing else, and he could think of nothing else but _her, _and the way it felt when she twisted her hips.

"Ah, Arya," he moans softly, unaware completely of how she might feel taking him this way. He was always conscious of the fact that a womans first time was never 100% painless, but she really seemed to be otherwise opinionated.

"Don't stop," she whispers against his neck before gently nibbling the sensitive flesh underneath his ear. He shudders viciously, his cock twitching inside her.

"Fuck," he said. She liked how she made him react, he could tell by the way she was grinning at him. She repeated the last motion she made, drawing a satisfied sound from him.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," Arya says. He believes her. He suddenly worries perhaps he's simply not well endowed enough to please her, but the noises she was making had chased that thought quickly away. Still he couldn't help but ask.

"Does it feel good?"

She doesn't answer. She just shudders and digs her nails into his neck, pulling his hair, and throwing her head back with a triumphant cry, womanhood quivering and pulsing with climax. _Oh, my. _


End file.
